


Cherry

by darcyinstilettoes



Category: Winx Club
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Kissing, Love, Melancholy, Neck Kissing, POV Second Person, Passion, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 06:42:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23467075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darcyinstilettoes/pseuds/darcyinstilettoes
Summary: Even though she still finds it hard to admit, but she fell in love with him and now she can't help falling deeper and deeper in his eyes. Almost addicted.Set before the series when they were working for the Ancestral Witches.
Relationships: Griffin/Valtor | Baltor (Winx Club)
Kudos: 2





	Cherry

I have always loved cherries. You admire the blood-red peel, turn it over and over in your hands. You're longing, trembling, burning inside to take just one bite. You do it, you sink your teeth into the fine pulp, you lose contact with reality. Ecstasy, joy, enchantment, paradise are all condensed in a small sphere. You let the juice stain your lips. Swirling notes of joy start dancing in your mouth.  
They kidnapped you, an enveloping passion. You bit the cherry and now it's ruined forever, corrupted by your greed. You no longer just want to taste it, you want to have it just for you, to continue to experience that feeling forever. A pleasure turns into sin, and you keep on sinning. Lust, evil, madness, pride. You drown in a vicious circle, you seek the pleasure of before, a dream that is taking the place of reality. Reality screams, wants to stop you before everything is lost. You run away, cry desperate, feeding on fantasies, yet another miserable bite of that red pulp.  
You fall apart. Cherries will be the death of you.  
  
Put your red dress on. Eyeliner. High heels. Mascara about to melt. You're ready: three, two, one, it's showtime.  
You are no longer human, you are art, a model. You imitate life, you pose. A simple high-class woman who sips champagne, or at least they believe it. You greet, laugh without realizing it.  
You are not really there, but occupy the scene, part of that hypocrisy, a symphony about to clash. You see every single crack, a piece of old silverware to polish. It's all foggy, you wonder how they do not understand their reality. They only see the right, they talk to each other without really knowing themselves, nobody tries to understand the other: they only see the beauty, that's what still keeps them there. It is called wealth, opulence, the illusion that this is heaven on earth. You know it, it's just the antechamber of hell.  
They are all fighting each other, they want to emerge, be the richest, the most beautiful, the strongest ... Fools. They annihilate each others, alcohol becomes their medicine, the nectar of them, the gods of the world. Isn't that what they are? They are gods, monsters disguised as gods, mirrors of absolute perfection, so unreal. Without a soul. Fame, money, success their anthem and their death.  
Who are you? Why are you there? What are you looking for in those diamonds? Are you by any chance one of them?  
'' Thoughtful, dear little witch? ''  
'' First, stop popping out of nowhere, you creep me, second get your hands off my waist , Val. You're annoying. ''  
'' Annoying? That's not what you thought last night ... ''  
You feel his lips running the length of your neck, they migle with your skin in a spiral of passion. They are languid silk.  
'' Come on, please it's not the right time! Hahaha, stop it! '' You whisper with pleasure painted on the face. He keeps making his way on your body and suddenly his hands are wrapped around you.  
'' Come on Griff, what's wrong with a little bit of love, let's not worry about the chatter of others. Let us love. ''  
'' You 're getting on my nerves, you are stressful and I am not in the mood for lovey-dovey. Let's think about something more relevant like the raid on Solaria tomorrow morning ning, I still don't have the slightest idea of how to deceive that damn king. Not because he's smart, but that councilor ... Uff, what a cold fish! No vices, weaknesses, nothing at all ... ''  
'' Another serious thing to think about is why you wore this dress. You are splendid Griffin. ''  
He gently caresses each letter of your name with a languid tone and a slight snap of the tongue on the letter 'n'. Your eardrums leap, you are in the palm of your nose. You can't let him win, you don't want to, but he knows it well and already smiles at you. You attack.  
'' I don't understand how other witches find you so irresistible. "  
"Maybe they are not afraid to show it and follow their heart."  
"Ahahah, I'm pretty sure they're in love with the way you are, not just the way look!" you say with a grin full of sarcasm.  
"Do you admit that I'm attractive then?"  
He says with a bright smile. You bring your lips close to its lobe, you stroke each curve with your tongue. You feel the air become dense with electricity, your bodies will resume their connection very soon as your skin dance on each other's. Your tongue retracts when you already hear him moan.  
"You are terribly stupid, Val."  
You wrap the paper cylinder between your slender fingers, lean on the counter and pretend nothing happened. He squints, his pallor leaves room for a vague strawberry red. You wait quietly for a tender lament.  
'' Must it always be this way ?! Can't you just ask me for one? ''  
"It's not the same thing."  
'' Isn't there the taste of stealing it from me on the most beautiful and tormenting me? ''  
'' Oh well that's obvious, my life is to bother you. "  
"And you're damned gorgeous when you do it."  
You snort and roll your eyes, count to ten, resist another murderous urge and inhale three times. You look at yourself in the club mirror. You don't go unnoticed, the two of you seem to be right out of one of those glossy magazines in beauty salons. Your hair is blow-dry, it falls smooth and regular on a purple-red silk dress that outlines your figure in all the right centimeters. He is statuesque, chiseled in every detail, white shirt without a crease, well-combed low ponytail and shiny shoes. He wears gloves, the only inches of skin visible as always are those of his face. Only you know what is hidden under his silk gloves, a change ready to destroy or improve the world by the power of its flames.  
And he knows what you are hiding in your golden irises, he says it is his daily nourishment, the source of his power. You don't believe it, he's always been good at words ... Like you.  
"Valtor, can you see this cigarette? Exactly half- smoked, the last three drags before the final one. They are the best, aren't they? You try to enjoy them deeply, you know that it will soon be over. I love this feeling, the adrenaline of something incomplete I hate the beginnings, I hate the endings: they are static I want to jump off a moving train and stop at the same moment before landing, do you understand? I want the doubt of success, of not knowing. I know, when I smoke I tend to talk a lot and say meaningless things, try to ignore me. ''  
He watches you drown in a suffocating cloud of nicotine. You notice his gaze darkening, saturated with sadness. There is no trace of the confident man as before, his darkness has been stripped naked from the silky robes and a high-fashion tuxedo is not enough to cover it. You still wonder how his eyes can be so full of emotion.  
Slabs of ice, a wall erected to keep in check its inner fire that reels trying to rise to the surface. It is small, but full of warmth, it clings desperately to tiny cracks, like a castaway looking for a landing. It escapes, wiggles, tries to survive in an ocean of darkness that grows and slams it from side to side with its waves. So his irises come to life, the sparks overflow, rattle and cry for help, the ice warms up and paints two watery streams on the white skin.  
'' You are not like them, Griffin. I envy you."  
'' How did you manage to ... ''  
'' I know the feeling. ''  
He caresses your cheek and walks away.  
Darkness has regained the upper hand by dragging the flames down into its depths. It all quiets down and the ice hardens.  
Here he is again, the handsome and damned blond-haired, ready to bend the world to his will.  
He's your cherry.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I'm Daria, this is a story I wrote on my Tumblr a while ago. I really love this couple so why not writing some fics? You can find me on Tumblr under the same nickname if you want.  
> Enjoy, and I hope you like it!  
> Bye!


End file.
